posted November 16, 2015 06:58 PM            

quote:

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Originally posted by Orange:
Ok then, Aub

Im going to hold you accountable for what you just said and make you eat your words IF after a while you come back and declare he is nothing short of a companion elf , instead of the karmic companion twinflamed soulmate title you currently bestowed him with.

Your 12 house Venus tends to do that to you.

Btw, im not sure, but wasnt he who turned his back on you and didnt asknowledge your birthday a few weeks ago, while you were sitting here alone wondering why he doesn't pay you attention? It could have been someone else you were talking about, thou, i cant recall exactly

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I can't blame you. Really. Not a bit.

Ohhhh, yes. He's the very same. He's got a bit of psychic fragmenting. It's not full-on DID, but we have noticed there are two distinctive sides of himself -- the version / personality / experience of himself when he's at home -- which is serious, withdrawn, dull affect -- erm, stilted emotions and speech (not that his speech isn't always a tad stilted) what I've named The Workaholic Recluse -- essentially, whom he's been since his early teens; it was cemented by the time he was an officer in the military.

Then there's My Boyfriend. He's entirely new, but with features of his younger adolescent self, before he went full schizoid. It's like a new shoe -- it's tight, uncomfortable, but, you know you need it, and once you break it in, all will be well. That's the best description I have for it.

The Recluse says, 'but you said your birthday was to be observed Friday. It's only Monday.'

My Boyfriend argues with the post for losing the package, because he had assured that it would arrive one week in advance. And then scrambles to reorder it, so that it manages to arrive overnight the day before.

The Recluse had no idea we had made plans for today a few days ago. 'We never see each other on Tuesdays, and, goodness, I just saw you Sunday.'

My Boyfriend envelopes me upon his departure, holding me for a few silent minutes before breathing into my shoulder, 'I've missed you terribly,' his tone akin to a confession.

The Recluse has no libido, and finds the whole business of being a man a terrible nuisance. He works, or works out, or acts as his mother's caretaker, handling all the pragmatic elements of living.

My Boyfriend assures me there's nothing else he'd rather be doing this Hallowe'en -- and is quite literal about it. He enjoys the time away from the minutiae of his daily life, and is slowly learning to allow someone else to take care of him.

The Recluse is always the dominant personality when he's at home. Or working on set. Or doing anything that fits in with the normal spectrum of his life. He answers his email, and the phone, is relatively uncommunicative, or very terse. He can occasionally don his ol' secret schizoid mask to appear friendly and sociable. But he may not remember anything that transpired in those communications.

The Recluse is who always arrives. He likes the mango juice straight, as a thick nectar. The temperature in the room doesn't matter. He twiddles his thumbs, avoiding eye contact and communicating in a clear, logical, undemonstrative fashion. He is similar to The Soldier, but not quite as serious, and far more low key. He is exceptionally polite -- but not at all attentive. I could be on fire, and he might calmly remark that something is burning. It's not quite as bad as all that now, but, oh my -- the early days! He's still incredibly withdrawn, with, about the interpersonal speed of a gawky adolescent.

He'll re-tell me the things he's forgotten he already did as My Boyfriend. We're usually through about two cups of slippery elm and echinacea tea before he's exhausted the list of things he's already recounted and enquired how things are with me, and if anything's new, before he'll just as clumsily ask if we should attempt any sort of intimacy. Oftentimes, and, for many months, actually, this became infuriating, as it'd neatly coincide with about a half-hour before my husband and stepdaughter arrived back from the event they were attending.

And so I'd tell him that, really, if he'd intended that, he needed to address it long before now. And he would always throw up his hands, apologise for being oblivious and incorrigible, blame his inexperience, and the fact he's all-thumbs when it comes to any of it, and I would sigh, tell him it was all right, and try and convince myself that it really was.

It became a regular thing, to where my husband expected it. It'd play upon my fears. He told me that, clearly, he can't deal with it, and he's trying to get out of it all. I'd secretly ruminate upon that, throwing my own private pity party, when I'd promised myself that we'd talk about everything. But we couldn't. I couldn't even reconcile the man who had fervently told me just a week before that this time -- this time, it was happening. Weeks, and finally months would pass. He wouldn't even recall his ardent plea, or he'd become so lost in work, and expenses, and being so stressed out, he just wasn't in the mood. It was the last thing on his mind.

I honestly didn't think that anyone could make me feel sex-crazed. But that's exactly how I started to view myself -- in comparison to him. And of course, I tried not to question myself, or take it personally. I just came to accept that, okay, he didn't want it. For whatever reason, he didn't want it. I learnt to be okay with that -- not to equate his love for me with sexual desire. It was tough, but I managed to do so.

But that's right around when he would tell me that he really did want this, and he didn't know what was wrong with him, and he didn't want to give up.

And I saw myself. I heard my own words. How I would plead with my lovers to just let me be, and to still love me anyway. Not to equate my hyposexuality with my genuine love for them, or even my being in love with them. They never understood.

I understood. I grokked it perfectly.

I released him from all expectation; I told him that I didn't need a sexual relationship, and if he never wanted to be intimate again -- I'd be okay with that. He held me so tightly ... I thought he might cry. He felt understood. And ... wanted to know what it was like to really want it, too. To feel that desire, and have that experience which made him feel a part of things, rather than apart from them.

'I can't give up on this -- this most basic, human impulse. Or I fear I really will be lost.'

He resolved that we needed to be 'less considerate' of each other, and allow our more raw impulses to drive. But that didn't really happen. Still, in the several times I gave him to opt out, promising that I wouldn't leave him -- he never accepted.

These were conversations mostly had with My Boyfriend, however. It wouldn't be until mid August that we came to realise the true distinctions between these facets of himself. Perhaps the most stunning was My Boyfriend's preference for mango juice diluted with an ice cube. It was too thick, otherwise. I'd also noticed that he'd be noticeably affected by the temperature. He was ... theatrical. Gregarious. His eyes would light up when he spoke. He was ... engaged. Lukewarm tea wasn't, 'just fine, thanks', -- throwback from The Soldier, no doubt. He'd no qualms about taking it to the microwave himself, and heating it to the desired temperature. And savouring it. And kissing me! And saying that he felt wonderful.

Because he DID feel wonderful; this was the man that was hidden from view -- stuffed down and away, being shielded by The Recluse. This was his heart and soul. His art and desire. With a voracious appetite, too, rather than the borderline anorexic who would never eat anything. And what an appetite!

As a psychologist, I was obviously fascinated -- and felt oddly prepared for this ever since my own adolescence. Everything around me had been hinting at it. When one of my friends discovered his girlfriend is dissociative, and I received the opportunity to work with my first actual DID client in the same 48 hours -- I took it as a cue to study it formally, and began doing so.

Wow.

We talked about it seriously. I broached the topic ... gingerly. He laughed! I felt ... awful. But then he spoke. 'Me? Dissociative? Oh, yes, that's not a bit like me at all!' He was being facetious. He'd suspected it for years, but never knew -- he never had enough formal information. He knew the Hollywood version of it, and the extreme cases. He had no idea he could have a different form that was causing just as much of an issue as if he had two personalities unaware of each other.

Suddenly, his obliviousness made sense. His memory wasn't poor -- he was literally compartmentalising these thoughts in experiences that 'belonged' to another 'personality'. And when that one wasn't driving, he had no access to certain details -- like plans made, or even things discussed.

We started experimenting. He made me his reality monitor, entrusting me with detecting his shifts, because he couldn't.

Take a moment, and consider how incredibly profound that is; when someone trusts another with relaying to them an objective perception of the world in which they're both part, because they cannot do so themselves. Think of the extreme courage it takes, for a hermit who lives and dies by his own self-sufficiency to say that they need help.

I was ... touched isn't even the right word. It was such a powerful honour to me, and one I undertook with extreme caution. I would devise tacit signals to allow him to understand where he was at in situations where we weren't alone, so that he could become fully aware of his own variations. He would read his emails with me that he'd sent, after we had been intimate together, and he was fully 'connected' to his emotions, and what I've come to know as 'My Boyfriend'. Even he had to admit it was almost like a different person. He'd remembered sending them, 'sort of', but never what they said. It didn't surprise me; they're always so terse -- almost professional.

We told my husband, but not the kiddo. He wasn't surprised. He'd already nicknamed him Leonard Shelby -- for reasons. That's the guy from Memento, incidentally.

He'd been playing this weird game of psychological chicken with himself ever since he was a teenager and experienced a sequence of tragedies that would string together the end of his adolescence into young adulthood. It'd never even occurred to him that he hadn't recovered -- or even approached healing.

He's aware, cognisant, and has remained emotionally 'plugged in' despite his Reclusive periods, for almost 6 months now. Progress is slow, but steady. And sometimes it'll take huge leaps, and we both have to take a moment to recover. Too much change too quickly can be bad, too.

I've 'seen the awful, hideous monster behind the mask' and I neither cowered in fear, nor ran away screaming. And he'd asked me, point-blank. 'Now how do you feel?' I'd told him the truth; I loved him, in all his facets -- good, bad, and anything in between. He's not had any such moments of self-loathing since the summer, fortunately. He doesn't 'disappear' emotionally as much into the Recluse, either. It still happens. But the times in between, with either My Boyfriend, or some combination, seem to be lengthening.

So, to answer your question -- yes, it's all of the above. The guy who drives me crazy, has blown my mind, and changed my understanding of reality -- what I even think is possible.

I stick with it, because there's no other option. I've reached a level of understanding and conditional love that surpasses my more garden-variety fears. Oh, I still have times -- but not like I used to. And, I 'never doubt'. As I'd told him -- once or twice, actually -- he did the complicated part of existing; I would always do everything in my power to make it work. But, hey, he does, too.

There's no way he could be anything but what he is to me. Because it's him. The man -- literally -- of my dreams. Who has been a constant underlying part of it ever since I was 19 years old. Who I started out fearing, despising, and unable to understand. And, slowly, over the past decade, through sheer time spent, exploration and soul-searching, I've come to discover the truth of, and learn to understand.

And then I met him. And first, I couldn't believe it; I still had a LONG way to go, but I was at least finally ready to begin the real work that would allow us to love each other as much as we do. Completely.

posted November 17, 2015 02:08 AM            

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Originally posted by Orange:
I hear you, girlfriend.

I dont think astrology has much to do here in your case, as both you and him respond differently than most people to the outside stimuli. You simply found a match in each other, a similar soul. I suppose it feels hugely relaxing, a sense of relief for not being forced to perform anymore.

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That's a really, really good way to put it.

There's been this huge sense of relief -- yes. My husband has never understood how, or why, I don't live my life for another person -- outside of trying to be the best possible person I can be for my stepdaughter. Instead, I've always lived for this ineffable sense of ... art. Purpose. I've always had this sense of ... purpose.

I feel like the true relaxation will come when I've got my pilot in the hands of a distributor and ready to air -- then I can relax. It's pretty tough to find a way to 'teach' people about multidimensionality within the context of a story without being too obvious about it. That's been the real trick. That and, well, properly structuring multiple timelines in place of the usual one. It's been a real hat trick (tin inpunded) to make all those plates spin without losing them -- i.e., confusing the audience and the story becoming bloated, rather than fitting together like a fine tuned machine, where each was crucial and integral to the other.

We've discovered so much through the context of our sexual relationship -- all of our research, and the healing we've both done -- I think that's been a really big part of it all. Sex has always been a complicated bedfellow of criminology; the one few want to discuss. Nobody wants to discuss the relationship of the warping and misappropriation of the libido -- including repression -- which can cause such a frustration of the natural drive that is creates a state known as sexualised rage. We suspect that, not only is erotophonophilia -- the paraphilia that has now resulted in such a need for a high stimulus, that the individual feels as if they must murder their sexual partner. Voila -- lust murder, or, via FBI typology -- 'the organised sex killer'. The Bundy type, namely.

Anyway.

All of it has, in some strange way, been oddly purposeful. It's almost as if, unless there's a purpose, we don't necessarily feel a driving force to be in each other's presence. Don't get me wrong -- we love each other's company. But it feels like ... we're on holiday, or something.

When we're really doing what I feel we're here to do, it's because we're both in 'mission mode' working towards some shared goal. We have quite a lot of them, too.

I want to say that we mirror each other's experiences -- except that's become cliche at best. When I use the term 'mirroring' I'm expressing an almost identical but opposite image. I just recently realised that our clearances were the same, but our training in law enforcement (per exams -- mine via the FBI, his via the US Army) were so similar. We were both trained in interrogation, intel-gathering, and even propaganda, but with different objectives. As a psychological operations officer, he was trained to gather 'psychologically relevant' intel. That's a very superficial form of profiling -- which was my bailiwick. I studied criminology, with my focus upon serial offence, and, as I'd mentioned, lust murder. But, my actual position offered in the FBI was in counterterrorism -- specifically, intelligence analyst in the national security division, as a Pentagon liaison. (That's why we needed to both have the same level of clearance.)

Anyhow, it resulted in a man who was trained as a psychological operator and propagandist -- to gather intelligence, manipulate and influence. And, a woman who was trained as a psychological profiler and psychologist -- to withstand manipulation and influence, while also gathering intelligence. We were both trained to endure psychological warfare, psychic and emotional stress -- psychic as in, mental -- not paranormal, that is.

We complement each other very well. He's taught me influence, manipulation, and propaganda creation. I've taught him criminology, abnormal psychology, and how the psy-profiler approaches a problem, rather than a psy-operator. The 'defensive' approach, as opposed to the 'offensive'.

That's ... kinda weird. It's why we absolutely never, ever want to try to actually do harm to each other, and that I attest that we will decimate one another. Not good.

But, to me, it's all a good example of 'mirroring', as it's both complementary and synonymous. Why, when we go into problem-solving mode, we complement each other very well, as a lot of the 'holes' in one's experience, training, or education is satisfied by the other's.

Helps us better do what I think we're here to. Why we both opted to leave that particular field, and whatever contributions we made to it, and head to Hollywood. Now, the most important contributions come from our collective experiences in that particular industry and vocation, fictionalised and used to inform, entertain, and (hopefully!) dazzle.

posted November 17, 2015 02:23 AM            

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Originally posted by athenegoddess:
You will know you have met your twin flame when you no longer need someone to love you or be with in a relationship. Because twin flames love God/Divine more than anyone or anything else. That's the irony and beauty of twin flames. You don't need someone to be with romantically anymore and the love for God surpasses the love for someone else. And the relationship with God is the most important relationship that cannot be matched.

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I get that. I can't say I completely empathise, because my mission here is what's paramount to me. My connexion to the greater everything is always underlying everything, but my conscious focus is upon my purpose. And I am very, very singularly driven to that purpose -- sometimes to the annoyance of, well, everyone but him. He gets it, because that's what he's here for, too.

I decided awhile ago, but had not really been able to put into practise, that I was really only truly interested in sexual experiences that take everything to another level. I'm not satisfied with physical sex for the sake of it. I tried to do that, and I've finally thrown in the towel. It's ... not for me. Instead, I know when I'm kinda getting the 'urge to merge', as it were, and a desire for this completely ... indescribable feeling and experience. I just know when it happens, because I feel it in every crevice of my being. It's really, really sensational. I suppose, for that reason, I don't need it very often, either. He's starting to know when the right time is, too. But if we try and have a 'normal, average, ordinary' sexual relationship, it's like everything is suddenly against us. It's only then, in these moments, that it really even works ... and it is ... truly cosmic, for lack of better description. We don't even check the clock to see if we've stopped time again. Heh. It doesn't even matter. Everything melts into everything else, and nothing else exists outside of us.

And sometimes, a song by our composer for the series will come onto the radio, as we're making love. It's so surreal. Our own actual literal score. Wow. So crazy.

It's tough, though. I'll feel my 'tether' to humanity fraying, and that's not actually what I want. I want to be empathetic and connected -- not so ... peacefully detached that I lose that link. I don't feel like that will help me, actually. I want a balance instead. And he does, too. He has the same fears.

I definitely have a different experience and interpretation of love these days. I've always been quietly after a sort of companionship, rather than traditional circumstances. But, karma, and my stepdaughter -- clearly, a marriage was important for me. It remains so for these pragmatic reasons, and the real love that we share. I just wish he could understand my approach to love, rather than feeling that I'm disinterested or too detached. My love doesn't seek to possess; only experience. I'm not seeking ownership, merely harmonious interaction and maximum benefit and / or productivity for both.